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Sunshine.
Sketchbooks.
Laughter.
Security.
And light. So much light.
I remember it all.
Does he still think about those days, too?
I drag my eyes back to his face, and my blood turns cold.
I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’.
There’s no friendliness in his gaze. No warmth. If I was expecting a happy reunion, there’s not enough champagne in the world to ease the slap ofthatdisappointment.
Tossing his drink away, he starts walking toward me. Correction:stalking.His movements are slow and deliberate, like a hunter locking onto his prey. My breath hitches, but I stand my ground, each step making me tip my head back a little more because he must have grown at least two feet since I last saw him.
As he draws closer, I find he’s not looking at me at all, but at someone directly behind us. He doesn’t even stop. He just brushes past, blasting me with a cologne that’s spicy and unfamiliar, and an undercurrent of a scent that takes me straight back to Colombia.
“Edier,don’t,” I hear Aiden snarl, but his warning falls on deaf ears.
Turning quickly, I see a couple of waiters with trays standing directly behind us. I catch their eyes lingering on my ass until they realize Edier’s coming straight at them like a heat-seeking missile.
Muttering a ton of bad words, they spin on their heels, trays flying, and break into a run, disappearing around the side of the mansion with Edier in deadly pursuit.
8
EDIER
My first swingslams into the waiter's jaw.
The second makes a mess of his nose and rattles his shit-for-brains—decorating the pristine white tiles behind him in a perfect arc of crimson.
Eat your heart out, Banksy.
“Jesus, stop! STOP!” he screams, sliding down the wall in a pathetic heap—flinging one hand out in a futile attempt to stop me, while the other hand clutches what’s left of his face. “I’m sorry, okay?” He starts weeping, spilling salt water all over his friend who’s lying unconscious by his feet. The fucker was so scared he ran straight into the doorframe and knocked himself out before I’d even started.
Shaking my fist out, I tut in disappointment. “Hijueputa.Son of a bitch. I haven’t even broken a sweat yet.”
“We shhhhouldn’t have loohked at herrr.” His words start slurring together, which means I must have broken something good. “We didn’t know sheee was your gshirl!”
“She’s not my anything,” I lie coldly. “I just didn’t like the look of you.” Crouching down, I take his shattered jaw between my fingers, hissing in disapproval at his pig-like squeals, and wave my knife in front of him. “Did you get a good look,malparido? Did you imagine sinking your teeth into that pretty ass, or maybe even your dick, if you got her drunk enough?” I grit my teeth at the thought of this punk getting a taste of her sunshine. “Was it worth it?”
“W-worth it?” he gasps out, eyeing the knife in fear.
“The price you have to pay,” I say patiently. “You don’t get to check out an ass like that for free. There’s always a tax.”
“W-what tax?”
I’m about to carve out his left eyeball to demonstrate when there’s a metallic scrape of a lighter behind me, followed by the acrid tang of cigarette smoke.The kitchen staff all fled the scene as soon as I erupted into the room, leaving their half-plated-up salmon mousse entrees behind. It means Aiden must have followed me in.
“What a fucking mess,” he drawls, his accent making him sound even more disapproving. “What did they do? Spit in your whiskey?”
“They looked at something they shouldn’t have.” I pause, my blade millimeters from its target. Silver tendrils of his cigarette smoke are curling around me like a noose and pulling me back from the brink.
